


shadows and tide

by WrCardew



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrCardew/pseuds/WrCardew
Summary: The call is unmistakable: protect their cities at all cost. It's just too bad Regina has to partner with the blonde idiot to fight her evil mother and her minions.Then again, her partner could have been Super Boy Scout.





	1. in a sentimental mood

**Author's Note:**

> Relationships and characters are loosely canonical, though this is most definitely anti-Hook and Emma has never seen Hook before in her life. Firmly SQ. You won't need to know the DC-verse to read. Big thanks goes to [WildImaginings](/users/WildImaginings/) for her beta work!

_Fuck._

_This couldn’t be happening._

Furious, her eyes scour her lair as she tears off her gloves.

Her mirrors, her eyes all over the city...They’ve all been destroyed. All that work she’d put into setting them up.

She growls.

“Regina…” she hears.

“Not now, Father,” she snaps as she stands, bent over the desk, her head bowed. A half-shattered lantern sways eerily in the breeze, the only light now present in the dark cave coming from her vehicle.

She gives a wave of her hand, and magic flows from out of it, restoring her lair to its former glory. “I suppose that was useless, wasn’t it, Father?” She has yet to turn around, though her posture straightens. “Mother knows this place.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, darling,” Regina hears, and she involuntarily shudders. That voice… she had never wanted to hear it ever again. Especially not after what her mother had done to her.

Regina turns around. “Mother. I see you’ve escaped from Blackgate.” Her father has already been knocked unconscious by her mother. _Good_ , she thinks. _He won’t be a nuisance to keep track of_.

“Must you always state the apparent?” her mother replies. “I’ve been good, darling. I haven’t taken any hearts…”

“Yet,” Regina says, not missing a beat, and not for a minute buying her mother’s new repentance. “Yet, Mother. You _are_ the Queen of Hearts. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Not if you let me stay with you, Regina,” her mother says, her eyes not even blinking. “I just want us to rule this city – to be great again. Look at you, Regina. All dark colours and nothing to highlight your pretty eyes. This is not good for you at all.”

“Mother, you were found guilty of fraud, corruption,” _– amongst other things –_ “and I am the only reason why Mills Enterprises is not utterly bankrupt this very moment. I _will not_ tolerate you coming in here and making demands –”

“ _Tolerate_ ?” This is the mother she grew up fearing, and old habits are hard to kick. Still, she’d managed to put her mother away once, and she would do it again, if need be. “Oh, Regina, I _let_ you win last time. I’d hoped  that my time away would have helped you learn how much you needed me, but you’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Regina’s eyes narrow, refusing to let her mother’s words get to her. She lowers her hood and mask instead, and stands combatively, steadying her magic as she waits for her mother to make the first move.

“Oh, Regina,” she hears just before something hits her head from the back. “I don’t want to fight you. Don’t you know? I just want you.” She feels her mother’s hand caressing her face as her vision fades to black.

* * *

 

“Tom! Tom!” He hears his wife's voice cry out for him frantically. “Come ‘ere, quick!”

“What is it, Anne?” He rushes off to the other side of the lighthouse, dropping his bucket with a clang. “What in God’s name is so important…” He trails off. “Oh, my…”

His wife is holding a baby – a newborn, by the looks of it. “Look what I found, jus’ by the docks.”

“It’s a baby,” he exclaims, dumbfounded.

“And _it_ ’s a she,” Anne replies. “Who would leave their babe here, of all places?”

“I’ll contact port authority,” Tom says, taking his hat off and scratching his head in befuddlement. “See what they say.”

And of course, no one knows anything. They just say that they’ll be by to take the infant into care the next boat over. But it doesn’t matter, because by the time he comes back from his phone call he can tell his wife is completely smitten with the child, and, well, they’ve been trying for children for so long and this might well be an answer to their their prayers. He gives port authority a call back and asks for a social worker and paperwork instead – they will be adopting the child as their own, barring any unusual circumstances.

She is a bright child, and she beams at Tom the first time he picks her up, and he falls head over heels. “Emma,” he says, without knowing why he says the name other than it _feels right_.

Anne looks at him, surprised. “I was thinking of that very name for this bairn, Tom.”

He smiles. “Emma Anne.”

His wife wraps her arm around him then, and says, “Emma Anne Swan. She’ll be our very own duckling.”

And like a duck, Emma takes to water instantly. By the time she is a toddler, she is following her father everywhere, from the top of the lighthouse to the docks. And though it is clear she loves her mother, she spends less time with her than with her father.

“I wish she’d just stay in with me sometime, Tom,” Anne says one night as they’re readying for bed.

“I’m na sure it’s me she’s so enamoured with,” he replies gruffly, and gently and silently pulls his wife into the hallway, looking at little Emma who has crawled onto the wallspace right by the window overlooking the ocean. “Methinks it’s the sea that’s calling her. S’only right; from the sea she came, to the sea she will go, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, Tom…”

When Emma is six, she falls into the ocean without her parents around, her very first time without a life jacket to ensure her safety. Her mother just catches the splash from the kitchen window, and runs down the path towards the dock and jumps in. To her surprise, she sees Emma calmly playing in the water – and perhaps _breathing?_ – with a fish or two who scurry away when they see her. Emma smiles, and waves, and without another thought Anne brings her to the surface. “Mama! That was so fun!”

“Never do tha’ to me agin, you hear me, Emma Anne? You scared the livin’ daylights outta me!” She hugs the child tightly. “Ya tell us next time you go in, ye hear?”

“Yes, Mama,” she obediently replies. “But Mama, next time, you’ll come in too, won’t you?”

Her heart melts at her child’s innocent smile. “We’ll see.”

The year she is ten she befriends a dolphin. Her parents are taken aback, but not surprised. “You knew it was comin’, didn’t ya, Anne?”

Anne nods. “There’s some’in special about our bairn. She talks to the fish all the time, and las’ time I went in te the ocean there, she’d got them swimming in circles like they were her pets.”

Tom shakes his head, and ruffles his hand through his hair. “Well, least she’s a good’un. No harm in all of this, ‘less she brings a shark home. Then mebbe we’ll have a problem then.”

Anne looks at her husband. “But don’t you think it odd she has few by the way of friends?” She pauses. “Human friends, I mean?”

“I reckon she’s got friends enough here,” Tom replies. “Besides, we’re so far away from the coast I don’na think she’s got friends who want to come out here.”

“I s’ppose that’s true,” Anne sighs. “And she seems all right coming home from school. It’ll be all right.” The last statement she says mostly to reassure herself, and her husband puts his arm around her.

“Yes,” Tom says. “She’ll be fine.”

Emma is just fifteen when her mother is taken by  the very thing Emma loves most. Anne had been out just by the docks when she’d had a seizure, and had fallen into the ocean and drowned. Tom had gone in after her, but by the time he’d pulled her out, it had been too late. Emma had just come home from school.

“No, Mama, no!” She had sobbed into her father’s arms, her arms uselessly pounding at his chest. “I shoulda been here! Shouldna’ve gone to school today.”

“Nothin’ we coulda done to save your mama,” Tom says, his heart full to break but refusing to do so in front of his child. “Ye hear that? She loved us and she wouldna want to see us like this.”

The funeral is awful; they inter her in the ground, and Emma is furious; furious that she hadn’t been there for her mum, that the thing she so loves is capable of killing those around her, that her father couldn’t save her mother, that they took her mother away from the place she loved most and put her somewhere foreign and unfamiliar. She sits in her mother’s study – Her father is out tinkering in the back after the funeral – as if she could sense her mother’s presence still in the room. She sits there for a long time, before finally, finally, giving into the sobs she can sense crawling up from her gut.

And that is where her father finds her. Sitting next to her, he brings her into his arms, as tears trickle at long last down his face as well.

Their time in the lighthouse isn’t really the same after that – a dark shadow now cast upon the house and little island. It’s not long before Tom decides to pack up and move to land. Emma puts up a half-hearted fight, feeling guilty for loving the sea, but also feeling an intense dislike for being trapped in the city. But, as her father says, it would make going to school easier, and she would be able to see her friends from school more often. Besides, it isn’t like there isn’t work for Tom; since his wife’s passing, the condolences from friends have also often included offers for relocation, change of pace, and jobs.

That suits Tom just fine. He takes up a position with the Metropolis Board of Parks and Recreation, and after many years of hard labour, is content at a desk job and the extra amount of time he gets to spend with his daughter.

Emma grows quickly, both in stature and wisdom. Having been a rambunctious child, Emma as an adult possesses a tempered idealism and a quiet if no-nonsense way about her, just like her mother, Tom thinks. And though he’s had no way of bringing it up over the years, and it looks like Emma’s turned her back on the sea, the very same look he’d seen with his wife all those years ago is still present on her face every time she turns her gaze towards the ocean. It’s in her blood, and one of these days, she’s going to go back to it, Tom knows.

So it’s not really a surprise when Emma comes home and tells her father that she is joining the Coast Guard reserves. “They’ll help pay my way through school, Da,” Emma says before he can brook an argument. “And it’s a good career.” _For me_ , left unsaid.

He holds up a hand, and smiles at her. “Ye know I’d give you my blessing no matter what you do, duckie. I just want ya to be happy.”

“Thanks, Da,” Emma replies, and without really consciously thinking about it, she’s hugging him with all her might.

“You be careful now there, duckie,” he warns. _Don’t leave me like your mother did_ , she hears, and she nods solemnly.

“Don’t worry, Da,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

Top of her grades in aquatic biology, and a minor in criminology, to boot; she even takes a journalism class at one point, though when Tom asks her about it, she shakes her head. “It’s really not for me, Da. I don’t have the same sort of curiosity in what happens in the world the others in the class do. Take Clark, for example.”

And Tom does; Clark is a nice young man from Kansas who had come over one night to work on a group project with Emma. A nice, firm grip, he can remember thinking, and wondering if this is the man who would take his daughter’s heart. No, as it turns out; she’s not as old-fashioned as he is and less concerned about marriage than having a good career. And _he_ ’s far too timid for Emma’s brashness, too.

“Oh, Clark, that nice fellow…”

“Da, he’s dating my friend Lois,” she rolls her eyes. “Besides, I told you. I’m not interested in relationships, and definitely not interested in settling. I saw what you and Mama had – that’s what I want for me.”

“A man can hope for his daughter, can’t he?” he protests, but ceases with the teasing when he sees her face. “I know, I know, duckie. I’m just havin’ a little fun wit’ you.”

She rolls her eyes again. “ _Anyway_ , I’m just saying I’m not interested in journalism. Besides, from what Clark and Lois tell me, it doesn’t sound that much safer than being in the Coast Guard anyway.”

“Really?” Tom asks, surprised. “Clark doesn’t seem like a fellow who’d stand up to much. One big strong wind and he’s lookin’ at a knockdown, is what that fellow looks like.”

She gives him a strange look. “Clark’s stronger than he looks.”

“Enough about Clark – you sure this aquatic or another biology is what you want?” he asks. “Thought you were done wit’ the sea.”

Emma gets up from the dinner table and stands by the kitchen windows, looking out looking out towards the direction of the sea. “I know, Da. I couldn’t, not for a long time af’er Mama. But there’s something there, pulling me back. And you know I’ve always loved the animals in the ocean. I dreamed just yesterday I had a pet dolphin as a kid, but that couldn’t be right, because you can’t talk to dolphins, right? But I did.”

Tom sits, dumbfounded. _She’d been so young when that happened..._

Emma continues, not noticing that her father has mostly stopped paying attention. “I need to know what’s out there, Da. And this is the best way to do it. Between my degree and being a reservist, maybe I’ll figure out what’s drawing me towards all of this. But I won’t know if I don’t look.”

“’ppose you’re right, duckie,” He sighs. “And I can’t fault you when I says as much to your Mama. You came out of the sea, and to the sea we knew we would lose you.”

“Oh, Da,” Emma responds, squeezing her father’s arm to reassure him. “You won’t lose me. Promise.”

* * *

“Your majesty!” Cora hears one of her minions shout. “You sure it’s safe to be out at sea in this weather?”

She takes a look at the stormy weather. She’s sailed in far worse, and has faith in the captain. “What does Captain Hook have to say?”

“Orm, my dear Queen of Hearts,” booms a voice from behind her. “I find that nickname distasteful and ridiculous.” Cora gives him a once over, all covered in leather and with eyeshadow to boot. But she cannot afford to lose an ally and so keeps her opinion to herself.

“Well, Orm?”

“Nothing I cannot handle, Cora,” Orm replies. “I’ve sailed through much worse. Besides, I’m told all the usual roadblocks are up, and I cannot imagine your majesty passing through unscathed… especially as they’ve certainly noticed your disappearance from Blackgate by now.”

“Well, I’d like to be home before my daughter wakes up,” Cora nods to the bound figure being carried by her minions. “If you could, Captain…”

“Welcome aboard, milady,” Orm bows with a flourish, and steps aside to allow his passengers onto his ship. “We shouldn’t run into any trouble headed to Metropolis; the Coast Guard are easily evaded, and we should fly under the recent alien hero’s radar… no pun intended, of course.”

“For your sake, we’d better hope not,” Cora says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve got precious cargo on board, and I’d hate to be inconvenienced.”

“Not a chance, milady,” Orm replies.

True to his word, the trip is mostly uneventful. Evading the Coast Guard, however, proves a little more difficult than they anticipate.

“Hold on, milady, head below deck!” Orm orders. “We’ve incoming!”

There had been no sign of them, just a minute ago. But within a blink of an eye, a Coast Guard ship is upon them. What they want is unclear; while the _Ocean Master_ and its crew can hear the foghorn, they cannot hear at all what the captain of the other ship is saying above the windy gales.

But there is no mistaking their intentions, once they get closer. _Prepare to be boarded_ , and Hook for a minute is unsure of what to do. It’s too late to ask the Queen of Hearts to cloak them, and there is little they can do except pretend that they are an innocent fishing vessel just lost at sea. Or prepare for battle.

“ _Ocean Master_ ,” he hears the other ship hail.

“Ho, _S.S. Icarus_ ,” he replies with his own bullhorn. “What can this poor fishing vessel do for the U.S. Government?”

“This is Lieutenant Commander Hackett,” the other ship’s reply comes back, from the older woman on the bridge, it sounds like. “Hurricane Gendra is on its way. Turn your ship around and go back to harbour.”

Just before he can reply, a glint of golden hair catches his eye. A young ensign, or perhaps a lieutenant junior grade, with the face of his father. Impossible.

“Will you comply?” the Coast Guard demands, and Orm realises that he has taken far too long.

“Yes, ser,” Orm replies. “Good day to you, ser.”

And with a last signal from the bullhorn, the _S.S. Icarus_ begins the turnaround.

“That was handled rather well, Captain,” Cora’s voice floats towards him. “I thought for a moment they would escort us back to harbour.”

“Luck of the Irish,” Orm shrugs.

“You’re not Irish, Orm,” Cora observes.

“No, I’m not,” Orm replies, and without another word, goes to the helm and takes the wheel from his first mate. “Head back below deck, milady. If the Coast Guard is right, we’re in for a storm. And we’ve still a ways towards Metropolis.”

“Not Irish indeed…” he mutters to himself. And neither, he suspects, is that woman he’s just seen on the _S.S. Icarus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a review! And/or find me at wrcardew.tumblr.com. Cheers!


	2. flaming complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out a little more about Regina and her family. In the present, Regina has been kidnapped by her mother, and Emma follows her gut.

She is ten when it happens. It is one of the few times they leave the house to go to the theater, and little Regina is thrilled beyond belief. The red carpet, the crowds, the smell of popcorn – her father even buys her a stuffed animal to celebrate the occasion, and her mother doesn’t say a single word. Her mother is happy, even, though Regina knows it has nothing to do with her and tonight as her hand slips into her father’s.

“Daddy?” she looks up at her father. “Wasn’t that just a _wonderful_ movie? And the costumes, weren’t they delightful?”

He smiles indulgently at her. “Yes, I thought you would enjoy that, _linda_.” He stoops to help her adjust her coat. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, do we now.”

She giggles, her laughter infectious and her father’s smile widens further. “No, Daddy, but won’t Rocinante get cold?”

“Not if you tuck him into your coat,” he replies, and affects mock surprise. “Oh, but _linda_ , you don’t have room. I guess we must return him to his friends.”

His wife rolls her eyes at him. “Really, Henry, must you encourage our daughter's delusions?”

“Cora…” he starts to say, but he sighs, not wanting to spoil the evening with an argument. “Ah, _linda_ , why don’t you give me your Rocinante. Do you trust your papa to keep him safe?”

“Of course, Daddy!” Regina replies, and happily hands her father her toy. “You’re in good hands, Rocinante. Daddy is warm and snuggly and the best!”

The family braces themselves for the chill as they leave the theater. It’s only a few blocks to where they have their car parked, but of course Cora is deeply unhappy that they’ve given their driver a night off, and her mood is souring to the point where Regina is tempted to duck towards her father’s side to avoid her mother. But prudence keeps her just close enough to not catch her mother’s attention. No, the last time her mother had been in a foul mood had not boded well for Regina, and it is better to just hide in the shadow than to press into the light.

“Hey, ain’t you the Millses?” a high, whiny voice echoes from out of the alleyway. “What you fancy people doin’ in this part of town?”

“Ignore him, _linda_ ,” her father whispers quietly, ushering his family quickly towards the car.

“Oi, jus’ cause yo’re rich don’t mean you can ignore us folks,” another voice adds in. “You no better’n us.”

Regina sees a flash of metal gleaming off of streetlight, and she screams. “Daddy!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, little girl,” comes the first voice again. “We jus’ need some money. You’ve got lots of that, don’t you? Me own little girl’s at home, sick, ‘cause we can’t afford no doctor. Spare a bit of change, won’t you?”

Her father hesitates for a moment, and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. In that moment, they all come shuffling forward. Regina gasps, an involuntary reaction to the gaunt faces coming into the light where the family stands. Her father pulls her back, closer towards the fence. Maybe it’s a surprise when her mother doesn’t back away.

“Stay back,” Cora orders. They keep coming anyway. “Peasants,” she spits out in disgust. “Henry, get our daughter out of here. I’ll deal with the rabble.”

She can hear their cries of pain and anguish as her mother… does whatever she does...  as she herself sits in the safety of their car. “Hush, _linda_ , your mother will keep us safe,” her father whispers, as she holds on to him for dear life. But it isn’t the crowd she is afraid of - the fear she has seen in their eyes tonight she’s seen in herself in the mirror - it’s her mother.

“Let’s get going, Henry,” Cora orders as she gets into the car. “Your precious daughter has been out too long past her bedtime.”

 

* * *

Her mother is always gone in the evening once she’s in bed, Regina knows. It’s because as soon as she leaves Regina tiptoes into her father’s room, where she can expect him to have a book open and smoking a pipe by the fireplace. Tonight, though, the fire hasn’t been stoked and her father’s pipe is unlit on the coffee table, and her father is standing by the windows looking out at the storm that had hit shortly after they arrived home.

There’s no smile to greet her. Regina wonders if the opening of the door even registers with her father because he continues to stand there, motionless. “Daddy?”

“Oh.” And she knows he didn’t hear her come in, but he does smile now. “Regina, _linda_.”

“Daddy,” she says as she steps in quietly and closes the door behind her. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, and beckons her towards him. “I think it’s time you knew the truth, _linda_.”

“About what, Daddy?” her eyes are wide, curious; a child whose whole world still only encompasses her parents. “Is it about Mother?”

Henry seats himself on his usual chair, and after some hesitation, Regina climbs onto his lap. It’s been a long time since she’s sat in her father’s lap - she’s a little more grown up now after all - but it somehow seems appropriate, given it seems like her father’s in need of solace, and she… well, she’s maybe not so grown up after all.

“Regina, your mother…”

“Does this have to do with her gone at night all the time?”

Her father gives a surprised chuckle. “Ah, _linda_ , you are more observant than your old Papá gives you credit for.”

Regina smirks at him. “I get straight As in school, Daddy.”

“I didn’t say unintelligent, _linda_ ,” he chides gently. “I only mean… your mother has tried to keep you in the dark, keep _us_ in the dark… and it is not often that we know the things your mother tries to keep from us.”

Regina frowns. “What do you mean, Daddy?” There is no response from her father; like the jigsaw puzzles they are fond of putting together, she suspects that he is waiting for her to figure this one on her own. “Oh… those disappearances from all our major competitors… are you saying those were Mother?”

He remains silent.

“But why would Mother… why would Mother do such a thing?” She doesn’t doubt that she _can_ ; the way her mother is malicious from one moment and calm the next has been present all her life. “Oh!” She exclaims, her brain firing on all cylinders. “Mother… she wants this city.”

Her father nods.

“Why aren’t you stopping her?” she turns on him indignantly.

“Because he can’t,” comes the voice she hates most in the world.

“Mother…”

“Regina, darling,” Cora says as she enters the room, in a costume that Regina has never seen on her mother. “It’s time you learnt more about the family business.”

* * *

Emma loves the spray of the ocean on her face. An ensign in her college days, she has since risen in the ranks, and Lieutenant Commander Hackett has taken Emma under her wing. So today, rather than being on the deck with her peers, she is on the bridge, shadowing Hackett.

(In retrospect, she is no one, and there should be no reason for such favoritism. She does not have the connections the Bennett boy in her squad does, nor is she outrageously brilliant like her squadmate Rogers.)

The ship that they’ve come across is small, nothing out of the ordinary; foolish, perhaps, to be sailing in this weather, but nothing that should catch her attention. Her radar pings, though, and over the years she has learnt that ignoring her radar is not only poor form, it is also unwise. The _S.S. Icarus_ has become notorious for spotting and dealing with trouble effectively, in large part due to Lt. Jr. Grade Swan’s instincts.  

“Ser,” she says quietly as the ship prepares itself to head to shore. “There’s something odd about that vessel.”

“Fools, most likely,” the Commander replies. “I doubt they will turn back to shore, even after our warning.”

“Yes, ser,” Emma says. “But begging your pardon, ser, but there is something very wrong with that ship, and - just my opinion, ser - we should board her and give it a check over.”

The Commander looks at her appraisingly. “Would you bank your career on this, Swan?”

Insecurities battle in her gut, but in the end, she looks her commander in the eye. “Yes, ser.”

Her commander nods, and orders the ship to turn around in pursuit of the smaller vessel. “Very well. Swan, join the boarding crew.”

“Yes, ser,” Emma replies, and rushes down to the deck. She hears her commander issue the call for the other ship to turn around, but feels rather than hears the other boat’s reaction, as the ship is hit, and it rocks back and forth violently.

Her senior officers have all gone to their posts, and so have her peers and the ensigns. She’s the only person out of place…

 _Boom_.

A raging ball of fire comes roaring by, and she ducks, barely missing the fireball. The person behind her isn’t so lucky, and takes it to the face. Emma continues towards the edge of the deck, her own gun out, and she hears the call to fire behind her.

But the bullets aren’t flying the right way. Why are they shooting themselves? Why aren’t they shooting the other boat?!  

They are. The bullets are somehow being redirected back at their own ship, killing her crewmates. “Stop! Stop! Stand down!” She yells, as soon as she sees their own firepower is being used against them. She has no authority to be saying any of this, but her fellow crewmates follow her instructions, and stop firing immediately.

There’s a woman on the other ship, dressed oddly in a dress that would better be suited in the nineteenth century. A cold smile plays on her face, and Emma knows instinctively that this woman isn’t going to stop, is going to continue fireballing at them until they’re sunk.   

Unless someone stops her.

Without another thought, Emma tosses herself over the railing and onto the other ship and at the strangely dressed woman.

Emma misses, but her gun in her outstretched hand doesn’t, and the bullet she shoots aims true, striking the other woman in the shoulder. The woman cries out in pain, but it seems she still has some strength in her, sending a fireball towards Emma.

Emma is knocked out of the air, her body plunging towards the cold ocean, and she knows no more.

* * *

 

Regina awakens to coarse rope chafing around her wrists and a splitting headache. She swallows back the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm her as she takes stock of her surroundings. From the looks of it, she’s in what passes for the brig in the ship. All of her weapons have been stripped from her; her mother has been thorough. Her magic is dampered by a cuff on her arm, her utility belt and daggers gone, and her hands and feet are bound.

The ship shudders, and she is thrown from one end of the cell to the other. She braces herself for impact.

It’s not a storm. She can hear yelling above deck, and she can smell her mother’s magic being used. Why haven’t they transported her by magic? Or, for God’s sake, on land?

She takes a deep breath. One step at a time.

As Regina’s eyes slowly adjust to the dim light, she spots nothing that can help free her from her bonds,  and she realizes that she’s going to have to do things the hard way. Her hands are bound behind her back, but she can reach her legs if she angles her body so that her hands can reach her ankles. As she feels the general shape of the knot, she’s thankful that she hasn’t yet cut her nails. Ah, a sailor’s knot. Not easily undone, but not overly complicated either.

She untangles the first part of the knot when she feels the onset of a cramp. That won’t do. She’s careful to pace herself, and it’s another quarter of an hour before she is able to free her legs.

Her hands are next. She doesn’t think that she’s flexible enough to bring her hands around front, but if it’s anything like the knot around her ankles, bringing her hands around front won’t help all that much. She finds one of the loops, a little looser than the rest, and pulls.

 _Shit._ She’s just succeeded in making the whole thing tighter.

 _Damn, damn, damn_ , she swears. It’s not the same fucking knot. Some idiot has decided to be creative with this one, she thinks as she feels it out. The under-knot is definitely a sailor’s knot, though the first layer feels more like a bowline on a bight.

Once she knows, though, she makes quick work of her bonds. Rubbing her wrists, she looks at the cuff damping her magic. No, the wearer cannot take it off - useless to try to anything else. It looks resistant to anything physical she might do to it, short of a chainsaw or a hammer fresh off the forge.

She takes another assessing look around the room.

The bars look solid. She gives them a shake, just in case. They’re as solid as they look, she thinks wryly to herself. The lock itself would be easy enough to pick, if any of her lockpicks were still with her. Did they miss her backup set?

She reaches into her inner thigh. No, they’d managed to find them. She’s just going to have to sit in this cell until someone comes by, and hopefully not her mother. She sits and waits, in the darkest corner. Like it has been for her mother, the dark has always been friend rather than foe, and here, in the dark, no one can see she has escaped her bonds, not until, hopefully, it is too late.

The ship gives another shudder, and she hears a loud, high-pitched scream.

This ship better not go down, she thinks, and near about panics. No, she thinks. Control your emotions -- no use in panicking. If the ship does go down, there’s a high chance the hull will collapse in on itself, though at that point, she knows she’ll be dealing with much worse than angry pirates or her mother. It’ll be debris and more water than is healthy for anyone, though… much better odds.

Her mother makes her angry, slow, wrong-footed. Always has, always will, at least thus far. As a younger child, that fact often made her surly. Now it is just another thing to factor into her calculations when she comes up against her mother.

Her father, she startles. Where have they taken him? Or have they left him behind, back at the base?

Probably left him, Regina thinks as she remembers the disdain Cora has for Henry. Her poor father… though Cora doesn’t hate him enough to kill him. Not purposefully anyway. Her father is hopefully nursing his wounded head and smoking a pipe by the fireplace.

A rustling at the door to the brig startles Regina back into the present, and she quickly tucks her legs and arms behind her back. Heavy steps clomp down the stairs - so not her mother, then. A tall-ish man, taller because of his platform boots, stands in front of her cell door.

“So this is the infamous Dark Queen,” he sneers.

“I’m sorry,” Regina snarks back. “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Orm, the Ocean Master,” he bows. “At your service, your majesty.”

“Or Captain Hook,” Regina says idly. “I think I’d much prefer that name.” She knows she’s hit a sore spot when it’s clear he’s trying to reign his temper in.

“I would offer you better accommodations,” Hook says, after a moment. “But I’m not sure I can trust you.”

Regina says nothing, waiting, in her mind already pinning him as someone who loves the sound of his own voice more than anything else.

“Ah, but beggars can’t be choosers,” Hook shrugs. “Your mother ails, your majesty. A stray bullet has torn her shoulder to shreds.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction from her; Regina gives him nothing. “She calls for you, and I am ever her humble servant.”

He unlocks the door. “Oh, forgive me, I forgot about your bonds. Allow me, please.”

She doesn’t make a move until he’s less than a foot away. He’s not expecting it when her foot lashes out first, at his groin, followed by rapid punches to the throat, solar plexus. It’s been a while since she’s had to use any physical force, and she knows it as soon as she feels her punch go through; it’s much slower than usual.

And she pays for it. He ducks her third punch, and punches back. She ducks, weaving in and out, sweeping at his knees. She smirks; his platform shoes do him no favour.

That hook! It whizzes past her nose. Too close.

Time to end it. He lunges at her - rookie mistake. Using his momentum against him, she flips him upside down, and going down his head hits the cot with a _crack!_.

Regina dusts herself off, and quickly pats Hook down. She finds her lockpicks in one pocket, and several daggers besides. She shakes her head.  

She wonders if she could use his hook to pry the cuff off of her. She shrugs. It can’t  hurt to try. Grimacing, she takes his hook and _yanks_.

The cuff goes flying.

She tucks it into her pocket, and then tosses the hook into the next cell. Neither he or she will need the hook, but the cuff will come in handy when dealing with her mother. Taking the ropes, she hogties the captain and leaves him on the cot, and locks him into his own brig.

Now, onto the rest of the ship.

* * *

 

_Where is she?_

It’s like she’s five again, and playing underwater. Breathing.

_Why isn’t she drowning?_

You’re not human, dear child.

_Who are you?_

.

_._

.

.

_What do you want from me?_

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! Let me know what you think - leave a review or find me at wrcardew.tumblr.com. Cheers!


	3. old folks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma wakes up to unfamiliar surroundings, and Regina, well, kicks a lot of butt.

When Emma awakens she is convinced she’s still dreaming. The room she currently inhabits is fringed with gold, and the drapings on the window do not hide the fact that there are fish swimming outside her window. The bed she is in feels like a normal bed, but it’s clear the building she’s in and those around it are completely underwater. The bed itself is a four poster bed, the kind she has only seen on television, and the room itself is something straight out of a royal palace, if a royal palace could exist underwater.

The underwater part she doesn’t really get, but it’s not hurting her, so she files that to the back of her mind to think about later. It doesn’t seem like she’s a prisoner, unless the door is locked (which wouldn’t really surprise her if it is).

She kicks off her blanket and tentatively steps out of bed. Something nips at her, and she startles.

It’s a sea turtle. A freaking to goodness sea turtle, and one who is looking reproachfully at her, at that. _Get back into bed, your highness_ . _You’re not well_.

She does a double-take. “What?”

The sea turtle looks at her like she’s an incredibly stupid child. _You heard me_. _Get back into bed, your highness. I promise all will be explained to you when you next awaken._

“You can talk??” Emma blurts out in disbelief.

 _Yes,_ the sea turtle nods its head. _We can all talk, as you say… it’s only the land dwellers who don’t understand us_.

“This is nuts,” Emma mutters, easing herself into bed. She abruptly winces at the pain.

 _You broke your ribs on impact,_  the sea turtle communicates. _Just rest. All will be explained in the morning._

Emma grudgingly pulls the covers over her, and thinks that she is awake and it will take forever to fall asleep, and why couldn’t she just -

 _Silly child,_ the sea turtle thinks. Emma is fast asleep, and its work here is done, at least for the moment.

* * *

The boat she’s on has taken quite the beating, Regina notices as she creeps up the stairs. The bow and starboard sides of the boat are riddled with bullet holes, and the crew members themselves looked no better. On the port side lie a row of bodies covered in sheets.

Her mother is nowhere to be seen, but most likely she is in her own quarters, or perhaps the captain’s quarters. Certain the crew will be no threat to her, she continues on towards the cabins, though she contemplates briefly putting the entire crew to sleep. No, that can wait, she thinks. She’ll need all her strength to deal with her mother.

The first cabin yields a few injured crew members who are no match for her, and she quickly sends them into unconsciousness, where they should be, anyhow, given how many injuries they seem to sport - what is one more?

She shakes her head wryly as she hears the familiar voice of her mother yelling towards the end of the hall. Not the captain’s cabin, then.

“What sort of doctor are you, Victor!” Regina can hear her mother screeching. “Useless, incompetent fool!”

“Forgive me, my Queen,” a simpering voice responds. “But the bullet is lodged in a place that will require extensive surgery, and I cannot perform the surgery here. We must get you to Metropolis as quickly as possible.”

Her mother, wounded? 

“In the meantime, my Queen, my suggestion is that we make you as comfortable as we can, and put you under,” the voice continues. “I have stemmed any external bleeding, but if you keep moving, the bullet in you may cause more damage than you’ve already sustained.”

“Very well, Doctor Phosphorus,” her mother’s voice this time, resigned. “I trust your judgment. But so we’re clear, Victor, cross me, and I’ll bury you.”

“Of course, my dear Queen of Hearts,” Doctor Phosphorus says. “I would expect nothing less.”

That’s where she’s heard that voice from, and her fist clenches. The bastard who had once promised her that he could revive her love, Daniel. And he has been colluding with her mother all this time? She shouldn’t be surprised, but she is.

This had been in her darker days, of course, when half her days had been spent in an alcoholic haze doing God knows what, before she had donned her costume and her pursuit of justice for those who live in her city.

She waits for her mother’s breathing to even out before she slips into her mother’s cabin. Doctor Phosphorus has never been a match for her, and it even takes him a moment to recognize someone else has stepped into the room.

“Ah, the Dark Queen,” he smiles, his radioactive energy ramping upwards. “Oh, what would people _do_ if they knew your mother was the Queen of Hearts? I don’t think they would be very happy…” His gloating is annoying, but he has no leverage on her.  

“Cut the crap, Victor,” Regina snaps at him. “You know I could kick you into outer space if I wanted to, and last I heard, vacuums were great places for radioactive energy.”

He scowls. “What do you want, Shadow?”

“You and I both know who would win in a fight, and given that I don’t think you can swim -” his paling complexion confirms this particular theory - “I think you should just surrender.”

His smile this time is halfhearted, weak. “And if I don’t?”

Regina smiles a nasty grin of her own. “It doesn’t matter.” She waves a hand, and Doctor Phosphorus is knocked unconscious and transported to a cell in the brig. She needs to go back there at some point to make sure the cell can contain him, but first, her mother.

She hasn’t seen her mother ever this at peace. Hands folded on top of one another, still, her chest rising up and down evenly. Doctor Phosphorus has drugged her well, and taking her mother’s arm, she gently slips the magic-damping cuff onto her mother’s wrist.

She spots her belt in the corner, and taking out a zip-tie, she cuffs her mother’s wrist to the bed. The belt goes back around her waist, and she feels a tad more secure having more than just magic in her arsenal. Her mask is in the garbage, and she fishes it out with some distaste. Her mother clearly thinks ill of her disguise as it is completely unwearable. Something easily remedied - and cleaned, thankfully - by her magic. Putting it on, she gives her mother one last wistful glance before she heads back up on deck to deal with the rest of Hook’s crew and her mother’s minions.

* * *

Emma awakens to a hand lightly brushing a stray hair off of her brow. A light touch, not like the thick calloused skin of her father’s whenever she’s sick. No, this is more like her mother’s touch. She blearily tries to open her eyes, and a figure - black hair is her most recognizable feature - slowly comes into focus.

“W-Whaa…?” Emma’s voice is raspy, and she coughs and tries again. “Whe-Where am I?” She struggles to sit upright, only to find herself weaker than she expects.

“It’s OK, Emma,” the woman exclaims. “Please, stay in bed.”

It looks like this woman has been sitting by her bedside for a long time, given how rumpled her beautiful gown is. Her hair is long and jet-black, and set on her head is a crown. Emma confusedly notes that this must be one of the royals who occupy this palace. Her eyes are kind, she notes, and the same ambiguous green color that she’s only seen in her own eyes in the mirror.

“W-Who are you?” Emma asks, again struggling to sit upright. The woman quickly props up the pillows behind her without her prompting or asking. “Are you the queen?”

The woman laughs, and Emma finds herself relaxing and smiling herself; it’s a delightful laugh that rings pleasantly, and Emma finds herself irrationally wanting to please this woman. “My name… well, my name is Snow. And yes, I am the queen… of Atlantis.”

Emma’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. “E-excuse me?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Snow, or rather, Queen Snow, says kindly. “But I’m sure you’ve noticed the marine life outside, as well as Thistle earlier.”

“Thistle is...the turtle?” Emma asks. At Snow’s nod, Emma admits, “I thought… I thought I’d dreamt the whole thing.”

Before Queen Snow can say another word, the door creaks open, and a blond man pokes his head in asking, “Is our daughter awake?”

 _Daughter_?

“Charming,” Queen Snow chides. The man walks in, abashed. Gesturing at the man, she apologizes to Emma. “I’m sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. But this is King David, or my Prince Charming… and… your father.”

“My… father?” Emma’s head is reeling. “And… you…”

“Your mother, yes,” Queen Snow says, just as her husband puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“You’re the ones who abandoned me at my father’s lighthouse?” Emma asks, and immediately regrets not filtering her words, as Queen Snow’s eyes fill up with tears.

“...Yes,” the king answers, his deep baritone filling up the space, and Emma can tell this is a man who carries authority in his very being.

“But… why?” Emma’s voice carries the unanswered anguish from since she was a little girl, when she first found out she was not the Swans’ biological child. Her voice comes out higher and childlike as she asks, “Why… why would you leave me?”

The queen and king exchange looks, and the queen reaches out a hand to grasp Emma’s. “Emma… we never wanted to leave you. But it was too dangerous for you to stay.”

“W-What you do you mean?” Emma responds. “What could be so dangerous you would send your child away?”

It is the king who answers this time. “My illegitimate half-brother, Orm, was vying for the throne… and he threatened to kill you - all of us.” Here, his voice breaks, and he is no longer the regal king, but a broken man who is still unsure - at least, so Emma thinks - of whether or not he has done the right thing in sending his daughter away. “You almost died that night he invaded the palace, Emma. We found him over you, chanting Dark Magic.”

“Your father cut off his hand,” the queen adds. “And banished him. But you were still, and blue, and nothing the healers did could help. Blue, our wise woman, said that you would not be able to survive underwater, not until you had recovered, and that we would need to send you to the surface, to the land-dwellers.”

“Trust us, Emma,” the king continues, his voice still uneven. “We would never have sent you away if we didn’t have to.”

“Orm broke free not long after you were safe above water,” he continues. “And cursed our realm, restricting us to the depths and unable to reach you. Our watchers came back with news when you were about five that the water could hurt you no longer, and we longed to bring you back. But this half-life… this is no place for a child, and we had heard enough stories to know that you were safe with the Swans.”

Emma’s hands fidget with the blanket. She has no idea what to say.

“But when news came that you had been in an accident, we immediately asked our watchers to bring you here,” the queen says. “You had finally fallen deep enough that the curse could not stop us from reaching you.”

“T-This is a lot to take in,” Emma finally manages to eke out. “How are you sure that I’m your daughter? Are you sure you don’t have the wrong person?”

The king and queen glance at one another. “Look deep in your heart, Emma,” the queen replies gently. “And tell us you don’t belong here in this world.”

It’s true; Emma has always felt like a fish out of water, and being by the ocean, _in_ the ocean, is half the reason why she is with the Coast Guard. She’s uncomfortable with the ostentatious surroundings, though that might be more her lower middle class upbringing more than anything else. She cannot deny that this _feels_ right, though it does certainly feel odd.

“There’s something else you aren’t telling me,” she says suddenly, and she knows it’s true when the queen and king - her parents? she’s still wrapping her head around it - look at each other uncomfortably.

“It’s too soon, Emma,” the queen finally says. “This has been exciting enough for one day, and you still need to rest.” She stands, and the king nods. “When you are fully recuperated, I promise you we will tell you everything. In the meantime, your primary task is to get well.”

She smiles at Emma. “After all, there’s an entire world out there for you to explore.”

And it is then that Emma knows that this is her mother - after all, who else would know about her sense of adventure?

“Call us if you need anything,” her mother (her mother!!) says, “Or send Thistle to us.”

Emma nods weakly. “Of course.” And they quietly leave the room, shutting the door with nary a click.

* * *

After Regina steers the boat to Metropolis (and determines that the port authorities have made all the proper identifications without her input), she makes her way to one of her properties in the city. The first thing she does is to double check and triple check the security, to make sure her mother hasn’t compromised this location as well. She hasn’t, probably isn’t even aware that Regina owns a condo or two in the city, as these had been purchased long after her mother had been ousted from the company.

It makes sense to have a place in Metropolis, given the amount of business she does in the city, though most see her as a vapid child without her father’s know-how or her mother’s ruthlessness. She is content to let that impression stand, as it allows for unsuspecting fools to tell her more things than if she were to make it known she is more a cunning snake than a spoiled idiot child. Besides, she needs to keep an eye on LexCorp and that devious bastard Lex Luthor. On the outside, an accomplished, charming man, but she’s seen the type before, and her sixth sense goes off around him.

She’s not active in this city as a vigilante, which is just as well, because it has a boy scout of a hero already, and she does not want to pique his interest. She’s done her homework; Superman is what he goes by, a giant S etched onto his chest. He saves kittens from trees, for God’s sake, and Regina can’t help but roll her eyes at this man. His alter ego, however, is more interesting to her, and she has interacted with him on more than one occasion: a shy reporter by the name of Clark Kent with Metropolis’ _Daily Planet_. Clark Kent, she can deal with; Superman… not at this point.

He seems the type to want _partnership_ , and she decidedly is a one-woman team. Besides, he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes for her.

Content her security is up to par, she steps out of her costume and tosses all of it down the laundry chute. She saunters towards her bathroom, confident even in her weariness. Turning the tap on, she is content to let the steam rise and fill the room, before she herself steps in and lets the water run over her.

She hisses when the water hits broken skin -  _shit_ , she forgot about her injuries - and she rubs her wrists and head gingerly. But the pain serves to remind her of all the questions she has out of the experience she has just had. But before she can begin to sort them out, her mind drifts to another memory, the memory of when she had first found out her mother is the dreaded Queen of Hearts.

Regina is eleven, the cusp of innocence and adolescence. Her mother has taken her out of her father’s room, and they turn down corridors Regina has never seen in her own house. “Mother?”

“Yes, darling?” Cora answers without slowing, and Regina tries not to wince at the pain caused by her mother’s grip on her wrist.

“Where are we going?”

“To my study, of course, darling,” her mother answers. Regina hadn’t known that her mother has a study at home. At the office, of course, but why would she need a study here, when it is obviously Papa who runs the company. Her mother’s study is nothing like her father’s (her father’s smells of cigar smoke and warm wooden panels and a massive desk with one little one for Regina); it is cold, and minimalist, and Regina trembles.

It is her very first experience with magic. Cora apparently has been looking for signs in her daughter that she has inherited Cora’s gifts, and either she has demonstrated those gifts (which Regina doubts), or Cora has decided to force them out of Regina. Either way, it is a very painful experience, but by the end of the night, whatever Regina is able to accomplish seems to satisfy her mother.

“You’re not completely useless like your father, then,” Cora smiles ferally, and Regina’s heart beats irregularly, terrified, hoping that her father will come get her, as a spell Cora casts somehow rebounds and smashes the lamp on the wall. “Again, Regina.”

Regina’s lessons involve a lot of pain and tears, but no matter how often she begs her mother, Cora is unrelenting. “Regina, darling… this is for your own good. You will never be hurt if only you would listen to me. Don’t you know I only have your very best in mind?”

“Yes, mother,” she replies dutifully every time. There’s a part of her that earnestly wants to prove to her mother that she is good enough, and yet she is terrified of her mother’s retribution when she is not up to her mother’s standards. She wants so desperately to hear the words, “Well done”, and “I love you”, words that are only spoken when Regina accomplishes more and more difficult tasks in magic.

Her magic is honed, thanks to her mother; Regina slams a fist against the wall in the shower. But at what cost? The scars all over her body, thanks to her mother’s tests and regiment, the feelings of being dirty whenever she uses her magic, even for good. There have been times she has been tempted to follow in her mother’s footsteps, if only to please her mother, or at the very least, not disappoint her.

 _Well,_ Regina thinks bitterly. _It’s too late for that. And why should I care what Mother thinks? She’s nothing but a murderer and a psychopath. I_ don’t _need her._

And yet, if it had come down to it, if her mother hadn’t been drugged, Regina’s not sure she would have been able to subdue her again. Why is it that even in all her progress in leaving that unhealthy relationship does she still crave her mother’s love? Is it not enough that she clears crime on her city’s streets, that she runs a Fortune 500 company, that her father loves her?

Guiltily, she straightens with a shock (she winces again at the abrupt movement) -  she’s forgotten about her father.

She steps out of her shower, wrapping a towel around herself and moving towards her closet. Quickly getting dressed, she dials her father’s number. To her relief, her father answers, tired but in good health. Bidding him goodnight and letting him know she herself is all right, she hangs up the phone and turns on the news.

Her mother, of course, is the biggest headline, and Regina isn’t sure why she has bothered to turn on the damn thing when all it’s doing is giving her a headache. Pulling out her cider, she pours herself a glass.

It’s just a drinking kind of night tonight. But midway through the first sip, the broadcast is interrupted.

“Breaking news,” the newscaster announces after a brief conference with someone off to the side of the camera. “The mercenary known as Captain Hook has escaped. Caught earlier with the Queen of Hearts, his ship...”  
  
Regina can’t help but chuckle, even though the news is dire. “Bet he’s enjoying that nickname.” She’ll leave him to someone else, she decides. After all, this is Superman’s turf, and she doesn’t want to go mucking about, not just yet any way. Besides, Captain Hook is no longer her problem, so long as he stays away from her and her family.


	4. where we used to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma sees more of Atlantis, and Regina spends a lot of time ruminating.

The television is still on when Regina wakes up curled on the couch under a blanket the next morning. She must have forgotten to turn it off last night, which isn’t really a surprise given her exhaustion. She moves towards her penthouse windows, and pulls back the blinds, and takes in the sights of Metropolis.

It’s a beautiful city, with its towering skyscrapers and Metropolis Park in the middle as its crown jewel. From a distance, it looks like night and day from her own city of Gotham, though Metropolis’ seedy underbelly -- Southside, or Suicide Slum -- is better hidden from this angle, at least. But since the appearance of the Super Boy Scout, crime rates have been falling all over the city.

The same can’t be said about her own impact, or at least, not necessarily just yet.

There are seasons where she is tempted to go back to her old ways - the ways of her mother - and sweep aside the rubbish for once and for all. How dearly she would love to strangle the Mad Hatter, or as he likes to be referred to these days, the Joker. Or the Penguin, Sidney Glass. Both men are associates of her mother, and while Regina would like to say she has had no association with them, it isn’t strictly true, at least not of her past, when they had known her as a child under her mother’s thumb.

It would be more efficient to eliminate those menaces. But she’s not her mother, and she’s not the Evil Queen. The Dark Queen, perhaps, and the line blurs often, but killing an enemy would make her no different from them, as unfair and inefficient as that is.

A never ending game of cat-and-mouse, she thinks. And Blackgate cannot hold them, ever, for very long, or in the Joker’s case, it’s Arkham Asylum that can’t hold him. Meanwhile, more crazies are crawling out of the woodwork, inspired especially by those two, and already she can feel a headache coming on.

She goes about making her first cup of coffee of the day, too lazy to get dressed and go out for a cappuccino at her favourite coffee shop just around the corner. And she doesn’t fancy being seen by the paparazzi, either, come to think of it.

“...There was one casualty in the skirmish between the Coast Guard and the Queen of Hearts…” the television is still on, the darn thing.

She pauses. Skirmish? With the Coast Guard? That would explain the bullet holes in the tub she had been held in. Though the incompetent fools hadn’t managed to bring in her mother, but probably to her advantage, as it would have made things a tad awkward to explain why Regina Mills, recluse and hard-core partying CEO of Mills Enterprises had been found not just captive, but also dressed in the Dark Queen’s costume.

“...Lieutenant Emma Swan has been reported missing in the aftermath, after being injured in what is being described as the turning point in the skirmish between the two parties. Search is still underway for the missing lieutenant…”

Regina sighs, and turns the channel, diverting her attention to the stock market. Better numbers and stock prices than to hear more news about her mother. She has neglected the company as of late, that much is true. Thankfully, her father is still more or less on top of things, and Lucius Fox is more than capable of reeling in the dissenters. Without her trusted advisors, Regina is sure she would have lost Mills Enterprises long ago.

Speaking of which, it is probably time to think about relocating her base - perhaps her old haunt by the cemetery is too obvious a choice, and her father has mentioned a time or two the deep caverns under the house. Easily cleaned with magic, though she’ll have to work on the security, especially given how effortlessly her mother had not only discovered but also dismantled her entire operation. Hopefully the hard drives have not been destroyed, and linking the mirrors in the city should be an easy, if tedious, task.

So much work to do - it seems to only accumulate over time, not diminish, alas - and no time at all for much else. It’s in these spaces of pause that Regina realises how utterly alone, even lonely, she is and feels. Certainly, her father is there, has always been there, but her father is no substitute for friendship, especially given the twinges of guilt she feels in treating him like her servant.

There is Merida Dunbroch, out in Star City, of Dunbroch Industries. She has it on good authority that the woman is masquerading as the Green Arrow, doing in Star City what Regina is doing in Gotham. Or Superboy, shy, klutzy Clark Kent.

Regina shudders. She craves peers, but a hothead and a do-gooder do not rank high on her list of potential friends.

At that moment, her phone rings and interrupts her train of thought, thankfully.

* * *

 

Emma is bored out of her mind, restless. It turns out while she can live and breathe underwater, she does not also have accelerated healing, which is annoying. The king and queen have been regular visitors, and Thistle the sea turtle is not the worst company in the world, if just a bit strange. She’s been given a stack of books -- Queen Snow’s way of trying to help her acclimate to her new environment -- but she’s never really been an avid reader. Still, the history of Atlantis is fascinating, especially how close Greek mythology is to the Atlantean.

Also interesting: her family history -- turns out she’s not lower middle class, but freaking royalty. In a world that she didn’t think actually existed. Every time she thinks about it she gets more and more weirded out.

She must be getting too agitated because Thistle is looking at her like she’s concerned. And Emma isn’t quite sure _how_ she can tell Thistle’s different expressions -- because a sea turtle is… a turtle - but somehow she can. And it’s _weird._

She’s also curious as to how she can breathe underwater too. So far as she can tell, she’s not an amphibian or a fish, so no gills. And yet, somehow the Atlanteans have evolved to the point where they can process oxygen in water, as well as land. Though, from what Thistle has told her, Emma is probably the only person they know who can stay on land for extended periods of time. Something to do with a side-effect from her parents’ True Love.

Yeah, that’s weird, too.

Oh, and yeah, there’s apparently some prophecy about her defeating her crazy uncle and creating peace with the surface dwellers, but no one’s said a word about anything, and they must not have intended to tell her about it (yet, or at all), because Queen Snow had turned deathly pale when Emma had mentioned in passing as having seen something like that in a book she had been reading.

That particular book had disappeared after one of her naps.

She kind of just wants to go home. But apparently this _is_ home, even if it doesn’t feel that way. Not that the King and Queen would stop her from leaving, but finding her way back to Metropolis is probably not as simple as going straight up. The pressure change alone might kill her? But then, none of any rules about either world seem to apply to her, so who knows.

She mentally shrugs. At this point the Coast Guard is probably looking for her, and it’s going to be one heck of a story when she gets back. Oh, _God damn_ , what on earth her father must be thinking… not King Charming, but her Da.

 _Shit_. She needs to leave. Before he thinks he’s lost another person to the sea.

 _Your highness_ , Thistle warns. _Please try not to agitate your injuries._

“I have to leave,” Emma replies. “Please. My Da… this’ll kill him, me being missin’.”

 _Their majesties have already sent word, your highness_ , Thistle responds soothingly, and swims towards her, and Emma soon finds her face cradled by the turtle’s flippers. Emma nods, and allows the turtle to tuck her back into bed. _Please, mind your ribs, your highness_ . _I know they`re still sore_.

After a moment, Emma asks, “Thistle, what do you know about my uncle, Orm?”

Thistle looks at her intently. _That is a question for their majesties, your highness._

“But, c’mon,” Emma wheedles, “You must’ve seen him. What’s he like?”

 _I helped raise him, he and your father both,_ Thistle said finally, after a long pause as she judged what exactly to tell Emma. _He was the product of your grandfather’s indiscretions as a young man; the young woman died in childbirth. The King married your grandmother soon after. Thick as thieves, Orm and your father. I was constantly catching them in places where they ought not to be_.

There is distinguishable sadness in her voice, but it doesn’t stop Emma from continuing to ask her questions. “So… then… what happened?”

 _He became jealous of your father, and wanted to be King_ . Thistle looked at her in the eyes. _I knew when he was going bad - we all did - but none of us had the heart to_ believe _it, least of all your father._

Emma was silent in response, but Thistle didn’t seem to be waiting for one. _Orm killed your grandfather, you know. Don’t know why -- the throne was never going to be his -- and it wasn’t enough that they all treated him like family._ Thistle smiled softly. _Looking back, I think he always resented your father - we just couldn’t see it._

“Do you know where he is now?”

Thistle shakes her head. _Some say he still sails the high seas. Since your father cut off his hand he’s taken to wearing a hook instead._

Emma grins. “Captain Hook, then?”

_Careful, your highness, to not mock what you do not know._

Emma grimaces. “Yeah, well, I don’t know much of anything here, ’s the truth. And frankly, I’m getting kind of bored sitting around all day. Isn’t there something I can do?”

Thistle scrutinizes Emma, long glances that Emma has since grown accustomed to, as unnerving as they are. _Come, then, your highness. And do let me know if you’re in pain._

The turtle leads her out of the room, and down a long hallway. Emma struggles to keep up. “Hey, slow down. Ha-ha, get it, I said ‘slow down’ to a turtle?” She weakly cracks, but Thistle pays her no mind. “All right, fine, I see how it is.”

But before she can make another wisecrack, she is taken aback at what she sees before her, as they stop in front of a window overlooking the city. The city itself, of course, is stunning, with its ancient Greco-Roman architecture - a city frozen in time, essentially - but tears are running down her face as she takes in the entire scene.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” a voice comes softly behind her. Emma turns; it’s Queen Snow, _her mother_.

“Y-yes,” Emma says.

Her mother comes to stand next to her, and gently takes Emma’s face into her hands, her fingers wiping Emma’s tears, even as her own tears threaten to spill over. “Oh, dear heart…”

And before Emma can even really think about what she’s doing, she is buried in her mother’s embrace. Everything is right, and not, at the same time. But the feeling she has is indelibly _home_ , an answer to the unspoken questions she’s never voiced aloud, one she never thought she would ever find.

She suddenly freezes, realizing that she’s in a stranger’s arms. Queen Snow seems to recognize Emma’s sudden awkwardness, and releases Emma from her embrace. Emma stares at the floor, unsure what the proper etiquette is in this particular situation.

The queen smiles. “You have your father’s chin, you know.”

“I-I…. R-Really?”

“Oh, yes,” the queen replies. “And my nose, I think. But your chin… all Atlantean royalty have that chin. Have you seen the family portraits yet?”

Emma self-consciously rubs her chin, and shakes her head. “No, not yet.”

“Would you like to?”

“Sure,” Emma finds herself responding. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, that is.”

“This way, then,” the queen beckons, and the three of them walk through a series of corridors - Emma might be good at directions, but even this might have gotten the best of her - when the queen suddenly stops in front of a set of large ornate doors.

She pushes them open, revealing a cozy study.

“This is your father’s study, Emma,” the queen says as they step into the room. “David very rarely allows the attendants in here, as you can see.”

And she can - already she can tell that she and her biological father share more than just a chin. Organized chaos, she called it; stacks of paper scattered haphazardly every which way, always related to one another, and books teetering in piles stacked high, to waist-level at least.

Speaking of books, they weren’t just on the ground. Books overflowed all over the place: the shelves were quite full, doubly stacked already, in fact.

“I’m forever on him to clean,” the queen tsks affectionately. “But he says it is fine the way it is.”

“Because if you clean it, he’ll never find anything ever again,” Emma grins.

“A lass after my own heart,” a voice booms: it is King David announcing his arrival

“I’m just showing Emma the family portraits,” the queen says softly. “If you would like to join us, David?”

“Sorry, love,” the king gently places a kiss on his wife’s cheek, “I have _that,_ erm, _appointment_ , this afternoon.” He gives her a look, and even Emma winces at how obvious they are at trying to hide whatever it is they’re hiding from her.

“Oh! That’s right,” the queen squeezes his hand in response. “We’ll be just fine without you, isn’t that right, Emma?”

Emma nods, even though there’s quite a bit in her that really just wants to _know_ , but it’s not her place (well, what even is her place??). “Yes, we’ll be fine, your majesty.”

The king looks a bit uncomfortable. “Please, Emma,” he says. “Call me David, at the very least.” _if you can’t call me Father_.

“S-Sure, David,” she says in response, stuttering.

The king gives the queen another look, and bidding them farewell, he takes a file off the top of his desk, and turns and goes.

Emma fidgets.

The queen smiles, and takes her hand. “Dear heart, there’s no need to be nervous.”

Emma can’t meet her eyes. “I’m… Sorry. I’m just not used to all of this.”

“And overwhelmed, I assume,” the queen observes. “Why don’t we sit for a bit?”

Emma nods her acquiescence, and the queen clears one of the chairs in the King’s study. As Emma sits, the queen points to the portrait above her. “That one was done shortly after you were born, and before, well, before.”

She twists awkwardly to look at said portrait. The baby, well, actually _does_ look like her baby photos, for all that this is painted. And it’s painfully clear that the king and queen loved - love - her; Emma immediately recognizes the look in the painted queen’s face because it’s the very same one that’s looking at her in the present. And the king looks fiercely protective and _beaming_ and all of a sudden it’s just all too much.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Emma fumbles. “B-But I can’t do this.”

And she dashes out the door, aching chest and all. 

* * *

 

Regina drops in quickly on the Metropolis office, where she is reassured all is as it should be, and that the latest news about the Queen of Hearts has done nothing to Mills Enterprises, thank goodness. She, her father, and Lucius have done an excellent job of distancing themselves from _that_ mess, professionally, at least.

She glances quickly at her emails. One from Cat Grant, out in National City, she files for later. Another from Lois Lane, which she scowls at. Ah, gala invitations - one for the new Police Commissioner. This new one had better be better than Grogan, though she’s skeptical enough to not actually _hope_ for such, and well, anyone would be better than Grogan. Another for LexCorp, and she fumes. The last time she saw that smarmy bastard… well, all to say it did not go over very well for his hand, not that he necessarily took the hint. At least he’s not _her_ arch-nemesis.

Maybe she’ll make her father go in her stead. That would be a neat solution, though the board has asked that she play nice with LexCorp - Earle, another headache, has been pushing her to consider dating Lex, maybe consider merging the companies into the country’s biggest conglomerate. That almost broke her simpering mask, and she almost crushed her father’s hand under the table.

Thankfully, Lucius nipped that idea in the bud.

Regina shudders just at the thought. As she makes the drive from Metropolis to Gotham, her mind wanders to the possibilities of taking over LexCorp. But that will be a long while from now, unless Superboy can get his ass in gear and prove Luthor is actually up to no good. For all that Kent is a reporter, he has very little subtlety, and it is why Luthor can wind Kent up so effectively. Nor does Super Boy Scout know how to play dirty. Strictly black and white, that one. And then, she has enough problems as it is in Gotham so why is she thinking about another city?

As she shakes the cobwebs from her head, her phone rings, and she presses the call button in front of her. “Yes, Daddy?”

“Are you almost home, _linda_? I have lasagna in the oven.”

Regina can’t help the smile that breaks out on her face. “My favorite!”

Her father chuckles.

“I’m just fifteen minutes away, Daddy,” she says as she catches the worn-out, falling apart _Welcome to Gotham_ sign in the corner of her eye. “Maybe ten.”

“Be careful, _linda_ ,” her father warns. “I’ll see you soon.”

She is - careful, that is - and her father greets her as she enters the house. “Dinner's almost ready, _linda_ , if you would like to freshen up before we eat.”

Regina hugs him briefly, but rather than go up to her rooms, she walks outside to where she can remember the caverns’ entrance lay: the well she fell into as a child.

As she peers down the well, memories swell up within her. She’d been playing hide-and-seek with Daniel, and the well looked like the perfect place to hide. Only, she’d underestimated how deep the drop would be.

_She whimpers as she lands. Her ankle is definitely twisted, and her eyes well up from the pain. There’s nothing down, nothing but an old bucket whose rope has long rotted away._

_Curiously, though, the well is much bigger than she expected at the bottom. She can’t see very well in the dark, but she feels like she’s stumbled onto a series of tunnels._

_It feels like she’s been sitting there forever, nursing her wounded leg. She’s taken her sweater off and bound her ankle - it doesn’t feel broken, she thinks, but she definitely can’t step on it. As she sits, she wills her tears to stop and her breathing to calm. Her mother is going to have a field day with her, she thinks._

_But as she stills, her ears can pick up a faint beating noise, and her heart, which had just started to calm, starts racing again._

_“Regina! Regina!” she hears. “I give up! You win!”_

_“I-I’m here, D-Daniel, I’m here!!!” Regina stifles back a sob, even as she can hear her friend’s steps coming closer_

_In that moment, a tremendous flurry of noise rushes out of the tunnels, and Regina throws up her arms instinctually, and screams as bats rush out by the hundreds past her and up and out of the well. Their leathery wings batter her as they go, screeching so loudly they drown out her cries._

_“Holy heck!” comes a shout from up above. As the bats dissipate, that voice is aimed down the well. “Regina! Is that you? Are you OK???”_

_Regina grimaces weakly at Daniel. “I think so, but I might’ve gotten bit and I’ve twisted my ankle. You’re going to have to go get help.”_

Regina smiles wistfully as she traces the the stones on the well’s edge. After the incident, the well had been boarded up, and to her knowledge, her father kept the news of the incident away from her mother, saying that Regina had simply tripped playing with a friend. Even her father knew to avoid her mother’s temper when possible, and as she’d not been bitten, well, a sprained ankle was much easier to explain away. And she didn’t have to train with her mother, either, which made everything a plus, minus the ankle and the nightmares.

For weeks on end, she had dreamt of flitting shadows that came out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. And more than once she had snuggled with her father in his room, holding Rocinante for dear life.

And Daniel… well, her father hadn’t stopped arranging playdates for the two of them, though there were much stricter boundaries set in place, and she hasn’t been near the old well since.

“Regina!”

“Coming, Daddy!”

Time for dinner, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little early again, but I figured I wouldn't get any complaints. I will be away for the next two weeks without access to the Internet, so the next one will be late (probably the Tuesday as I get back Monday). As always, if you enjoyed it, leave me a comment! or if you didn't, leave me a comment too!
> 
> **also I thought about doing an outtake where a dolphin swims up to Tom with a message in a bottle, but that was too inconsistent with tone to stick in here.


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